Gauntlet: Epilogue
by Cap'n Chryssalid
Summary: Gauntlet was the End of the World. Epilogue is its legacy. (Capstone to the Gauntlet Series)


Insert worthless not legally binding in court disclaimer stuff here. Like a good communist, I own nothing.

* * *

"Gauntlet: Epilogue"

* * *

The car hovered in place, engines softly humming, before slowing to a stop. Drifting down to the driveway, moving to park, beautiful silence returned to the yard. Stepping out of the vehicle, its driver looked over the place and mentally compared it to what he remembered. Things seemed, on the surface, little different from his last visit. It was the dawn of spring, and already a small garden grew in front of the house, tiny green buds starting to give way to vibrant blue and yellow petals.

This was a world removed from the hard winter this land had endured just months ago, punishing weather threatening the lives and homes of thousands. The Long Dark had been a painful time with far reaching implications. The detonation of nuclear devices in the Asian subcontinent, as well as the fatal collapse of nuclear facilities in China, Eastern Europe, and France continued to plague those who survived. The environment was in constant need of repair and restoration, and even then, it had a way of striking back at those who had wronged it.

Stepping carefully across crisp grass, onto a paved walkway, he shrugged, shoulders slumping. For a moment, he felt old - far older than he actually was, but his responsibility and his will power refocused himself, and he stood tall before the front door. Ringing the doorbell, he looked down at his hands. Flexing fingers, he amused himself at some small level, curling them into a fist, a real fist, and then back into an open palm.

Shortly, the door opened. Standing before him was a beautiful woman, even in her overalls and slightly stained and wrinkled old clothes. He wondered if he'd caught her while she was out in the back yard, by the dirty work gloves that hung from a belt around her waist. She'd slimmed, of course, since the last time he'd seen her, but otherwise she was unchanged: caring blue eyes, deeper than he remembered, and long golden hair, done up in a bun.

"Ah. You're here a little early." She stepped aside. "Please. Come in."

Brick inclined his head in thanks, and stepped inside. "You look well, Bubbles. How're things treating you?"

"Wonderful." She watched as he took off his shoes. "I only wish Boomer was here. He really wanted to see you again."

Brick nodded. He took off his jacket and folded it over a nearby chair, and undid the top two buttons to his white shirt. Bubbles kept the house a tad warmer than he was used to. "I'll catch up with him another time. I don't suppose you know when he'll be back?"

"Next week, most likely." Bubbles' smile faded somewhat.

She missed him, Brick realized. Still, it was only appropriate given the circumstances. Boomer was as dedicated as his wife when it came to their work, and Brick could imagine his brother persisting for just a few more days, getting the new agricultural systems up and functioning in Japan, before delegating it to his subordinates and heading home.

"Would you like some coffee?" She asked, mood lightening again. "I know it was a long drive."

"That would be great." Brick clapped his hands together. He'd developed a taste for the coffee bean over the years, especially with the changes in metabolism and lifestyle things had amounted to. Bubbles motioned for him to follow, and she led him to a well-stocked and immaculately cleaned kitchen. Looking around, he kept an eye out for Scurrybots, the autonomous and nearly invisible little caretakers nearly every modern home had. Bubbles didn't rely on them, not to the extent that Blossom and Buttercup did (especially Buttercup), but he was surprised not to see one in some corner somewhere, going about its business of keeping things sanitary.

For some reason, it deflated his ego a fraction not to see one of his 'acclaimed inventions' at work in her house. Sighing, but trying to hide it, he left the kitchen and sat down on a couch in the den to wait. Boomer and Bubbles kept the den well stocked with souvenirs from around the world, in a sort of friendly competition with each other. Of course, Bubbles was at a slight disadvantage. Her responsibilities as head of the World Heritage Museum kept her in the area of the Former United States most of the last few years.

"Here you are." Bubbles returned with a steaming cup of coffee and sat down opposite him. He could see now, more closely, faint lines around her eyes, on her forehead. She was still young, still vibrant, but far from a child. Really, he wondered, had they ever been children? Had they ever been carefree and innocent? Certainly he himself had not been, but of all of them, Bubbles... maybe.

He raised the cup to her in silent thanks, and tasted. As expected, she had managed to achieve just the right mixture of dark, sugar and a hint of crème, better than he himself had ever managed. Scientist that he was, this one formula always eluded him.

"Delicious."

"Thank you." She smiled in a motherly way. Leaning back into the couch, he reached into his shirt pocket, and took out a small brown case, about the size of a cigarette lighter. It was best to skip to the heart of things before getting too comfortable.

"This should last up until next year." He paused and put it down on the table. "Unless something drastic occurs. Now, do you mind if I ask a few questions?"

"I'd be surprised if you didn't," She responded, eyes looking down at the brown case for only a moment before returning to him.

"How much have you flown over the last year? Or the last nine months, to be specific?"

Bubbles sighed. "Maybe just an hour. Boomer kept me pretty well grounded during the pregnancy."

"As I told him to." Brick smiled a little, and she gave him a mock sour face. "Have you been pushing yourself very hard recently?"

"I haven't moved any supercomputers or pulled up any trees if that's what you mean."

He laughed. "No. No. I suppose not."

"I've been out in the yard, but its nothing more than..." She turned away from him just a little, sadness in her eyes.

'Than the Professor used to do' she left unsaid.

Brick, too, felt a pang of remorse. Not for the Professor himself, however, but for those he had left behind. Brick, even after years of working with the man, had never developed more than a professional respect for him. They were too alike in all the ways either of them wanted to forget, and Brick refused to allow another father figure into his life, even as Butch and Boomer came to call the Professor 'father.' To Brick he was, at most 'father in law' and not in spirit.

Still, his passing had hurt the girls terribly. He had lived long enough to see Buttercup's first child, Duncan, born. He had lived long enough to see, beyond any other evidence, what Brick and Blossom had wrought on that last day of the Long Dark, when his plans had fallen apart, and Blossom's courage and resolve had laid low his own. To most, the Professor had seemed happy, glad even, with how things had turned out overall. Brick, however, had other concerns that he felt the Professor not necessarily privy to. There was no need to burden a dying old man with some things better left a secret.

"What about the baby? You remember that list I gave you? How is she?"

"Belle is..." Bubbles looked down at her hands. They were small, feminine... normal. She moved her fingers, slowly, and Brick was reminded of when, years ago, she had woken up, dumbstruck, staring at her newest acquisitions. There had been blood on the sheets, bits of skin that had flaked off. He had warned them about 'changes,' but it wasn't until they'd grown hands, actual hands, that the point had been driven home.

"She's perfectly healthy, Brick. Five fingers. Five toes." She looked up at him, and he couldn't help but flinch back slightly. "A nose."

Brick reached up, without even thinking about it, and wiped his own nose, as if to confirm that it was there. They could always smell, even better than a normal person, so it was beyond strange when they actually developed noses, rapidly over the span of just one week, with a marked decrease in sensory sensitivity.

"Can I see her?" He asked, for once sounding a little unsure.

Bubbles nodded. Brick quickly took a few more sips of the coffee, and followed her upstairs. The house was large - larger than the Professor's had been, but he knew Boomer and Bubbles wanted children, and had planned ahead for a slew of little rugrats. Thinking about children always darkened his mood somewhat, and at best left him with mixed feelings. Bubbles was twenty two summers, though if you factored for her being effectively 'born' five years old she was twenty seven. They were all the same age, but Brick knew he looked the youngest: barely a year over eighteen, or so he'd been told.

He knew the others suspected why.

He knew they suspected wrong.

Belle was a tiny thing, hardly as tall as his forearm was long. At their approach, little blue eyes opened, and the child wailed. Bubbles huffed and ran over, picking the baby up and into loving arms.

"She's very sensitive." Cradling the babe, Bubbles walked over to him and let him take a closer look. "See that, Belle? That's your uncle Brick. Your uncle Brick."

He reached out, gently brushing aside small wisps of blonde hair. The child cooed and took his finger in both hands, happily shaking it and making gurgling sounds. Unable to help himself, he smiled down at his niece. "Energetic, isn't she?"

"Belle's always trying to get into trouble." Bubbles smiled down at the little girl. "She's a real handful."

"I can only imagine." Brick blinked, and for an instant, Bubbles was Blossom, holding a child with red hair, and his eyes. Then, as soon as it came, the scene was gone. "How have you been feeling since..." He trailed off, hoping she'd catch his drift.

"Since?" She asked.

"Since you started... feeding her?"

"Oh." Bubbles seemed to think about that. "Pretty normal ...sometimes I get a little light headed, but it always passes."

"No feelings of weakness."

"I remember what I was like." Bubbles paused, in memory. "How it feels when your legs won't move, and your arms feel like lead weights. Nothing like that, Brick. The medicine seems to have taken care of it."

Another thought crossed her mind, and not for the first time. "It won't affect Belle, will it?"

"No. When Duncan and Andrea were born Buttercup had some problems. She needed a slightly altered dosage, due both to the strain of carrying a child to term with her... our... unique condition, and her own highly active tendencies. The infusion of Chemical X, however, won't affect the child. It only has an effect within our bodies, and even then, it's only restorative in nature."

"That's a relief." Bubbles held her child protectively. "I don't know how I'd deal with a powerpuff baby. Nothing in the house would be safe." She smiled wistfully. "The house itself wouldn't last a week."

"It's a human's world." He said, softly. Regretfully.

Bubbles turned to him. "Brick? You still don't like them, do you?"

"Eh?" He answered, instantly defensive.

"People. ... Humans."

"You all spend enough of your lives caring for them. Why should I?"

Bubbles sighed, and looked down at her child. She obviously didn't want to have this argument, this conversation, again. Inevitably, however, it always came back to him, back to who he was and why. Looking at Belle, Brick felt sadness, not just for himself, not just for Blossom, but for the child as well. He loved his nieces and his nephew, but he pitied them, too. Pitied them terribly. They would never know the thrill of clouds brushing past their cheeks, of wind, real wind, in their hair. Never know what was to be their birthright.

Never understand all that had been sacrificed.

* * *

The drive home was a weary one, and Brick felt a moment of pure relief when he arrived. It was his summer home, and also his laboratory, a respite high in the mountains. He almost smiled at the old supervillian cliché of a secret hide-away in the mountains, or in some godforsaken piece of land far from the prying eyes of superheroes and other do-gooders. For a brief moment, he harkened back to Mojo's old base on the Townsville volcano, amused at still adhering to family 'tradition.' What would Mojo have thought if he could see how things turned out? He'd spent his entire like terrorizing Townsville.

Now Townsville was gone.

A New Townsville had grown, bit by bit, out of the ashes of its namesake, but it was a little more than a bit player in the world - barely more than a hamlet. Still, it could have been worse. There would've been nothing there at all if the local nuclear reactor had gone critical during the Long Dark, but fortunately enough, safety protocols had kicked in, and the reactor had shut itself off automatically. It was that, and that alone, occurring in nearly every reactor in the Americas, that had saved and preserved the continent.

Eurasia hadn't gotten off so easily.

Which was one of the reasons he valued its greater solitude. In truth, his 'hidden base' was more akin to a garage workshop. The Grand Villa in Geneva was virtually a stone's throw away, though, for all intents and purposes, it may have been on the other side of the world. He only visited the place to be with his wife, and Blossom was presently off on pressing business to Australia, another part of the world that had survived virtually intact. Staring out over the caps of mountains, breathing in the thin, therapeutic air, Brick felt a chill rise up his spine. Holding his coat close to him, he made the short walk to the east entrance, which opened at his voice-confirmation.

Bright amethyst eyes greeted him, worn by a young woman. Her purple dress, with a single stripe of black, the similarly colored belt blending in seamlessly, and cascade of lavender hair, brought back memories he had no real right to. She was the first of many, and his favorite. She smiled, and bowed slightly as he stepped in from the cold.

"May I take your coat, sir?"

He nodded, and let her take it off his shoulders. Far from prying eyes, he slumped forward slightly, and sighed. "Any messages since I left, Dayna?"

The purple haired woman nodded once. "Two, sir."

"I will see them then. Before I relax..." He walked, slowly, to the reception room. It was an antechamber of sorts, off the hallway that separated his quarters, and other amenities, from the main lab complex and systems storage. Here, he could answer calls and make videoconferences without actually showing himself. His video equipment and personal simulation software could overlay a carefully controlled non-static image of himself in however mood he wanted. It was all-important to maintain the pretense of cool calm, and absolute authority.

Dayna stood by the door; arms crossed in front of her, as he took to his desk, and keyed up the first message. The face that appeared on the holo-display was instantly recognizable to anyone on the planet. He was the first Planetary Hegemon, several years retired from that office, and before that, one of the best-known Superheroes on the planet. Now, of course, old and powerless, but still, Major Glory carried himself with dignity, chin up and voice firm. Despite being physically an all too frail old man, and no longer the leader of the civilized world, he seemed unfazed and remarkably active.

"Prime Minister, as you have no doubt remember, a minor breach incursion occurred in the Horizon Defense Net three days ago. I have finished surveying the damage, both to the Horizon itself, and to the stations 'Twilight' and 'Watchtower.' The 'Vigilant' is, indeed a write off, and we will have to proceed with a controlled descent to incinerate what's left of her. This leaves a small, but exploitable hole in our orbital defenses, and I would like to personally remind you to bring this to madam Hegemon's attention. We both know she undervalues general planetary security issues. Feel free to contact me at your convenience."

Brick curled his lip at that. It was true. Blossom had always been hesitant to spend valuable and limited resources on things that could, in a crutch, be handled by the adult, but not yet powerless, Powerpuff G... women. And Rowdyruff Men. Bubbles had held herself back when that little incursion had occurred. Only Buttercup and Butch had, typically, raced off into orbit to assist. It was responsible citizenship to lend aid, in a way, but it was also very stupid. They were weakening themselves, and not teaching the needed lessons in self-sufficiency to the people of earth. He knew better than anyone that their time on this planet was not entirely in their own hands.

Massaging his brow, Brick felt a small headache coming on. He would have to talk to Blossom about that, and a number of other things. The holographic message ended, and Major Glory's face blinked out. Brick noticed, however, in the moment before it did a hint of sadness on the much older man's features. Major Glory (what kind of first name is Major, anyway?) hadn't made a public appearance in years, not since Vanhallen had died. He was, really, the last of the Old Gang.

During the Long Dark, the so-called superheroes had not fared well. They were not immune to the corrupting influence of the First One that Brick himself had unleashed. Like a dam ready to burst, their own petty insecurities and jealousies had consumed them, driven them against each other as much as against their respective nemeses. Those that survived those nights had been forced to deal with the aftermath... with their own crimes, those that could even remember what had come before, and with the loss of comrades.

And the loss of their powers.

Brick thought back to them, and to others... ample evidence of the changes in the world that had been wrought. Fuzzy Lumpkins, and his kin, had not survived to see the light. Brick had studied his remains, along with those of many other Townsville villains and once-heroes, looking for traces of Chemical X to salvage, or even another miracle substance to mimic it. All had been failures. Fuzzy, the Amoeba boys, and most others had been the product of toxic waste - the Chemical X, or the Artifact from which it came, had simply allowed them to survive in their new state. When it went, so did they. Only his study of Sedusa had proven fruitful.

He half smiled.

Idly, he wondered if Professor Utonium had known who she really was? He supposed not, and he had never told the old man. Besides, the woman-creature Brick had studied was a far cry from the Majestic Five researcher she had once been. Sedusa had taken her own life, regardless, so it hardly mattered. Only after her death, and the Professor's, had the chapter been closed on that event, all those directly connected to the Artifact and Monster Island passing into history. The other meta-humans on the planet had either lost their powers entirely, or passed away. Brick had studied them all, looking for a way, some elusive clue, to recreating fresh Chemical X. Even the study of alien remains from different invasions had yielded no clues to this quandary.

He keyed the next message.

Blossom appeared on the holo-projector, and his gaze softened. She was older, as they all were, and her distinctive pink eye color had darkened to a soft almost brown. She still wore her hair long, but no longer free, clasping it around where the shoulder blades met, giving it a more dignified and mature look. She seemed a little nervous about something. The time of recording, he noticed, was just moments ago.

"Brick. I'm coming home early, around nine o'clock today."

His eyebrows rose at that. Home early?

The message continued, "We have to discuss some things, so please be there."

"Interesting." He slowly stood up after the message ended. He ran a quick mental exercise as he left the room, distantly hearing Dayna's obedient footsteps behind him. When he was younger, he used to enjoy running little games in his head, helping him calm and clear his mind and focus on the future. He'd never thought it'd become a skill so deeply entrenched that he couldn't imagine living without it. He moved slowly, but purposefully, conserving his energy, building up and preserving his life.

When the dissolution of the Artifact, the resulting backlash had hit him, and his brothers and adopted sisters, quite hard. Their powers began to wane and fade, as the Chemical X in their bodies became used up. The natural processes in their bodies that regenerated the proper supply of the chemical within them became stunted, at first, so that Brick had thought that they'd only be impaired. He hadn't known... hadn't known that, in time, their individual ability to manufacture Chemical X to sustain themselves would become effectively nil.

He'd warned them.

He'd told them that they were killing themselves, using their powers. It had seemed like they were going to heed his advice. He'd been depressed at the time, nearly suicidal, holding onto life only because of his new family. Only because they forgave him, even if they never forgot all he tried to do. He was, without argument, the greatest threat to human life that had ever been produced. He was... he had been responsible for the murder of three fourth the population of the planet. His crimes were incalculable.

They had been humoring him, he now knew.

When the people, the humans, of this little blue and green rock were threatened, they rose to the challenge. The fools! He watched them go, his only friends, his only family, every second of flight, every use of their powers killing them, draining the life from their veins. What more could he do than atone? What more could he do than what he had always done? His brothers, his sisters, they came first. He would not deviate from his path again, nor would he allow the corruption of the self to override his greater responsibility.

This was his love.

Though... he knew, if they suspected the means by which he acted, they would not accept it. One secret of many, kept for the betterment of all. His Pharmacopoeia Lab was where his most important work took place. True, it was his devices, built on the foundation that his fathers, Mojo Jojo and Professor John Utonium, had built, that he was best known for. He looked over his shoulder at Dayna.

He looked at her, with more than a casual glance, and was amazed.

DyNaMo had born true fruit in her, and in the thousands of Nanotronic androids like her. An engineered synthetic lifeform, his gift to the world he ravaged. They were laborers and soldiers, enforcing the peace and building the future. There were great limits, of course. They were reactive, not predictive, creatures. The best programmers and engineers had yet to duplicate the spark of true perception, intuition and sentience that made humans human. Seeing the synth tilt her head, and blink at him, he almost saw curiosity in those eyes.

"Are you thirsty, sir?" The android 'guessed,' wrongly, as it often did when it came to emotions. "Would you like a drink?"

"No, Dayna. I just want to rest for an hour or so." Brick kept walking. Thinking about how he had an appointment with his wife, and about Dayna, he chuckled softly. When she'd learned that he had adopted the perfected prototype synth as a personal assistant, Blossom had scowled playfully.

"Should I be jealous, Brick?"

"Don't be foolish." He had scoffed, as he knew he had a tendency to do. "They're not anatomically correct."

Not that he would, even if Dayna WAS. He had built them in Bunny's 'image' out of fond remembrance, not misplaced lust. He would never forget his first love, never forget it was she that allowed him to achieve Revelation and move beyond the primitive impulse he'd been reborn into. This form of her was not what he even equated, sexually, with her. He had never been with her outside their reborn 'monster' bodies, and had never seen her, as she had been when the Powerpuff Girls had first created her. Dayna and her copies were only as Bunny herself wanted to appear... and be remembered as.

Finally, deep in the Pharmacopoeia Lab, in what was, without a doubt, his innermost sanctum, he lay down against a large chair and relaxed his body. Dayna stood in front of him, mute. This was the only real purpose he kept her around for. After a few silent moments, he motioned her closer and spoke. "Level 1 operation, Dayna. I want to be alert for dinner with the most powerful woman in the world."

The android processed the information and answered without enthusiasm. "Yes, sir."

As the anesthetic took effect, Brick let his body relax and mind wander. He was not old, but the last two decades had weighed heavily on everyone...

* * *

Blossom shielded her eyes against the wind, and continued the climb. She'd only really had to walk up these steps once in her life. Every other time, she'd simply flown, so she'd never really understood how it could wear the body out so easily. The only consolation was that her legs were much longer than they had been when she was younger, so she could take the steps in stride. It was still slightly awkward for her, though, adjusting to the changes in her body.

Her arms were longer, too, and the joints more pronounced, sometimes giving the impression of stiffness and restriction of motion. Her body was along human proportions, and had been for a few years, but its balance was still strange to her. The Professor had told her it was her teenage years, and that it would go away when she got older. Blossom hoped so, but had doubts. What if they kept growing? Who could predict how they would grow, when there was no precedent for it? She felt clumsy and inarticulate, and climbing up these steps wasn't helping her self esteem when she felt like she was going to slip and fall every couple hundred meters.

Looking down, she saw that the steps were small. And why shouldn't they be? Mojo hadn't had feet much larger than the girls had, back in those days. Sighing, she kept going, knowing it was only a little further to the top. Ever since they'd built the place, she had never really comprehended why Mojo's hideout had ever been considered a secret base. It stuck out like an eyesore, and was visible from miles away. Now, actually walking alone up the deteriorating steps, she came to see that Mojo's base wasn't secret, but it was about as isolated as any could be in what had once been Townsville. She was breathing heavily by the time she reached the summit, where, years ago, she had seen death, face to face.

Death in his eyes.

Brick stood, highlighted against the setting sun, staring down into the pit of magma and flame that had, what seemed so long ago, bubbled and hissed as it devoured the remains of his mortal shell. Blossom realized that he was looking into his own grave. The red Rowdyruff didn't so much as turn his head slightly at her none-too silent approach, which worried her. What was it he saw in that cauldron before him? That crucible of molten rock, silica, metal, and yes, bits of himself, seemed to hold all the attention he could spare for the world. She had seen him depressed, she had seen him brooding... she had seen him giddy with joy, and cold as ice. She had never... never seen him empty.

"Brick?" She reached out, and took his arm in her hand. He was too close to the edge, and he had been up here too long. She gently gave him a tug, to get him just a little further from the drop into fire, but he wouldn't be so easily moved from his perch. "Come on, Brick. Let's go home... get some food."

"I'm not..." He paused, recalculated what to say. Seconds later, he decided. "I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat, Brick." She shook her head. "And I know you're hungry."

"You worried, Bloss?" He gave her a quick look, dark red eyes sad. She blushed, and didn't deny it, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. Without thinking about it, she squeezed his arm, and was reminded of how they'd grown... how different they were, now. Then he smirked just a little, and looked away again, down into the dark pool below. "Knowing that... makes me glad."

That was an odd thing to say. "Brick?"

Then, without another word, he reached up to the baseball cap on his head, and held it by the bill. He'd worn it for years, ostensibly as a weapon - he could throw it, spinning like a sort of bladed weapon. So, naturally, it surprised her when he took it off, and with a single motion, tossed it into the pyre. As it disappeared against the background of red and black, Blossom blinked, stunned. He turned to her, actually smiled, and she looked at him anew. His orange hair, uncombed, unkempt, rustled in the breeze. Before, without it, he'd looked innocent... more like a child than the murderer and villain that he had so often been. Before, he'd looked vulnerable with it off. Now... now, to her...

He was the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

"I... I think I'm done here." He took in a deep breath, and looked around at the summit. For the last time, Blossom realized.

"Let's go home." She gave him another gentle tug, and he allowed himself to go along with it.

"Wait a second." He paused in mid step. "You didn't cook today, did you?"

"No. Bubbles did."

"Oh. Thank God."

She shook her head. "You're such a jerk sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" He smirked, and she looked away, blushing.

"Only... sometimes..." She answered, wondering why it wasn't easy to say. She didn't see it, but his eyes widened a bit, and he blushed, too. They walked down the mountain in silence, hand in hand.

A slight shaking woke Blossom up, and she blinked her eyes a few times before remembering where she was. Home... She was flying home, on Air Force One, the Hegemon's personal aircraft. In a few seconds, the turbulence evened off. Looking out the window, Blossom saw mountains not too far below. They were almost there. Still thinking about the dream, though, she smiled at the memories.

They'd both been nervous around each other after that, which was a situation neither had much experience with. Butch and Buttercup had developed a volatile and passionate relationship first, and Boomer and Bubbles had grown closer than good friends when they went off to college, but Brick and Blossom... they'd played at not being together, it seemed, for as long as they could, perhaps not wanting to be seen 'following the trend.' It wasn't hard sometimes, like when they worked together professionally, and when they were off doing independent research and the like. But, inevitably, they'd see each other again, and her heart would flutter, and he'd try not to stare at her, and the mutual absence would only make things harder to deny.

They were stubborn like that.

Fingering the ring on her third finger, left hand, she remembered how he'd finally proposed to her, holding the offer of white gold and pink sapphire. "Blossom - I want you to marry me!" How typical of him, not to even phrase it as a question. He didn't even tack on a please to it, no, not Brick. Though, with a little effort, she'd managed to get one out of him later. She smiled at that, though... other thoughts, more recent, gave her some cause to worry. Still, she'd deal with them. She always did.

Almost home.

* * *

The Grand Villa was actually much smaller than it sounded. It was more a retreat far from the public view than a center of government. It had been Brick's initiative that it be so, to maintain a sort of distance and imposing stature to the station of Hegemon. It had to be so, because, as of yet, the infrastructure was not in place for a greater level of participatory government. Mutual benefit and a collective, and strong, security apparatus held things together more, than by any true kinship between men. Things had been fraying at the edges since the end of the Long Dark and the destruction of the Artifact.

Humans were always quick to draw distinctions between them; to form extended clans and tribes separate, and in some meaningless way, better, than those around them. Even as national and religious identities were blasted to atoms in the crucible of the Long Dark, racial and geographic lines proved to be far more tenacious. Global unity and worldwide organization operated on a razors edge. Straying even a fraction, weakening even a little, and there was the slide into chaos.

Humans.

The Hegemon, then, was akin to the eye in the pyramid. All the provinces of the world, and all the secretaries of organizations answered, ultimately, to the Hegemon and her advisor, the Prime Minister. Really, they DID nothing... only delegated and legitimized power. Hence why it was so important for the Hegemon to be well known, well recognized, well loved, and blessed with the palpable aura of leadership and invincibility. From the beginning, Brick knew he was ill suited for the job.

He looked across the table at the current Hegemon. She seemed to sense his gaze, and looked up from her soup, dark lashes drawing him to light hazel pools. For a moment, he was lost in her eyes, lost in the memories they evoked in him. Pain, fear, surprise, confusion, joy...

He gave her a wan smile, and went back to his food, picking at the farm-grown squid, tasting it only dully. It was excellent, of course. Blossom was altruistic to a point, but in time, she had come to enjoy being pampered somewhat, as he had expected. It was in her character. He had told her, years ago, that she yearned to rule. He had been both right and wrong. She had yearned to rule over others, but not for the reasons he had assumed. Not for reasons he would have ever even thought of or understood. Still, that did not mean they couldn't enjoy a life as fine as that of anyone else on the planet.

They ate well. They slept warmly.

True, it was more than most had, but was it not what they... no: she, deserved? He deserved death, and he would receive it, in time. Brick sincerely doubted there was a judgment after death. He HAD died, of a sort, and gone through Hell once. He had been unprepared then, but he would be ready next time. Ready to spit in the face of God, curse him for the damnation heaped upon Brick's kind, and dive willingly into the abyss. But Blossom... Blossom, like his brothers and sisters, deserved everything, and more. But Blossom would always hold a place in his heart, in his very being, that no other could approach.

He had given her the world.

He would have given her the Future itself.

"Brick?" She called to him.

He focused his attention on her, head still spinning slightly, from conflicting thoughts, old memories, and the aftereffects of the operation. "Hmm?"

She hesitated a fraction of a second. "How was Bubbles?"

His eyebrows rose just a little. So: she was avoiding the actual topic of conversation. This was odd. Blossom usually didn't beat around the bush, unless they were in a playful argument, verbally sparring and trying to get the other to slip up. This was far from that. He decided to play along, but made sure she knew what he did. He was in no condition to go a round with her.

"Very well. Her health is as good as one could hope for."

"The Chemical X?"

"Her level was a little low, but that's no surprise." He fanned is right hand, dismissing the situation casually. "I've given her a fresh supplement, and she'll return to normal in a few months." He paused, sensing she wanted to hear more, but on a slightly different topic. "The baby's fine. Belle's a spitting image of her mother... had she actually been born."

A bit of humorless humor.

"How was Australia?" He asked, trying to steer the conversation back to her. Blossom was the kind of woman who would usually give away hints about what she wanted to really talk about if given the opportunity to talk about everything else. Plus, there was that matter of Horizon Security to discuss.

"The Conference went about as planned." Her tone was well controlled, but betrayed a hint of frustration and impatience. As she talked, it became obvious that things had not gone according to plan for her, despite getting the overall cooperation of the regional governor and senate. Blossom had a dislike for certain levels of politics, namely the necessary deal making and self-serving nature of compromises. She'd be a horrible politician, except that she was smart and charismatic enough to get what she wanted, when she really wanted it.

They verbally warred, back and forth, testing each other's moods. Brick had always figured this was a quirk in their relationship that was unique, because Butch and Boomer didn't seem to understand the nuances of it when he'd tried explaining it to them. Theirs was a relationship where both vied for dominance, respect, and intellectual stature. He loved her with all his heart, but he could not wholly submit to her, even as he wanted to, just as she loved him, but would never hesitate to block his attempts at conquest.

'So long as I live, Blossom, you know what, in my heart, I must do.'

So Brick attacked, and she defended. He lunged; she accepted... or counterattacked, depending on her mood. This is how they danced. Through dinner, after dinner, they talked and they sparred. Even afterwards, when the two retired to their bedchamber, Brick and Blossom fight in their own, private little ways, until she rebuffed him. He didn't complain. Simply being with her was a blessing, and far more than he deserved. Still, before he drifted off to sleep, he was sure she never had gotten around to telling him what she had originally meant to.

In fact, neither had he.

"Vita brevis," He whispered in her ear as she slept in his arms. Inhaling the rich scent of her hair, allowing himself the luxury of enjoying it fully, he felt almost guilty. "Quam minimum credula postero."

Then, in that one moment when his senses were at full awareness, Brick heard something. He felt something. Almost lost amid their mingled breathing and heartbeats, almost blanketed by the background noise of the world around them. He blinked, hard, and remembered their conversations from earlier, Blossom's mood just hours ago, and then, suddenly, he knew what it was. Holding her close, he felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

It was the one thing he couldn't handle.

* * *

"I'm worried about him, Boomer."

Boomer leaned back in the couch, brow creased in thought. "Brick's always been stubborn, Red."

Blossom had to nod at that. "This is different."

Boomer sighed. He didn't like being summoned away from his new family, and he had said as much several times. He'd just gotten home and then, out of the blue, he'd received a summons from the Hegemon, and had to head off once again. Bubbles had understood with typical consideration, knowing that it had to do with Brick in some manner, and obviously concerned herself, but Boomer wasn't exactly a very 'considerate' guy. They all met every few months anyway, so what was so important it couldn't wait for the next big get together?

"So he's acting a bit weird." Boomer shrugged, and pointed at her. "Maybe he's just doing this to throw you off. He does that..."

"Something happened a week ago." She shook her head. Of course she'd thought about that. "He's deliberately not avoiding me... that is... he's acting like he usually does, but the feeling behind it is different."

"A rose by any other name." Boomer didn't quite understand what she was saying. Or why this involved him. He'd always been closer to the girls in general, compared to Butch or Brick, and he and Blossom had developed a certain understanding, a true brother-sister type thing, but this sort of thing was alien territory. Brick and Blossom's relationship had always been so damn complicated.

Couldn't we all just get along?

"Boomer!" She scolded, totally serious. "Brick's always there for me, always there when I need him... but now it seems strained, almost. Like he's there, but thinking about something else. Something sad. I... I can't seem to cheer him up. Even when he laughs, there's this distance in his eyes."

"Geez, Red..." Boomer's tone softened. He reached out to her. "Brick's probably just stressed out or something. You want me to talk to him?"

"No," She replied. "This isn't something Brick wants to talk about. This is one of his secrets."

Boomer groaned. "Oh gods..."

The lies and conspiracies! Some things about Brick were destined never to change. Blossom nodded. "Exactly. If you talk to him, he'll suspect that we suspect, and you'll end up in a trap, thinking what he wants you to think. This time... we can't afford that. He's doing something to himself."

"You don't think he's gone back to punishing himself for...?"

"I don't think that's it." Blossom didn't explain further. She could try, but it was difficult. More than anything, she just knew. She knew him, and she knew how he thought, how he worked, all she lacked was how he operated. That, he still kept hidden from her. "It is guilt, though... I just can't imagine what for."

"You want me to beat some sense into him?" Boomer shook his fist. They both laughed. Boomer's fighting days were long behind him. Everyone's was, really, except for Buttercup and Butch.

"If only it were so easy." She closed her eyes and sighed. "I want you to follow him. Find out what he's doing. Then we'll know what's wrong."

"You want me to trail Brick? The guy virtually taught me everything I know about sneaking around... Plus, he's like a damn hawk. Nothing escapes him."

"That's only what he wants you to believe." Blossom leaned closer to the Rowdyruff. "I've seen him, when he doesn't think I'm paying attention... he'll be listening to something, but not really hearing it. He'll be watching something, but not seeing it. His eyesight is fine. His hearing is perfect. But he acts like it's that way."

Boomer scratched his cheek, and the bit of morning stubble there. "Ah... I don't follow."

"He's pretending to be normal," Blossom said it simply. "Which means he isn't. Besides, if push comes to shove, you can always disappear."

"If I remember how." Boomer relented and stood up. "Alright. I'll do what I can, Red."

"Thanks, Boomer." She gave him a quick hug. "I think I better call Butch and Buttercup, too."

"Why?" Boomer asked, still concerned. Despite the adventures the green puff/ruff pair liked to get involved in, they also valued their time with their two children. In all likelihood, they'd drop them off with Bubbles before heading over to Geneva, which meant by the time Boomer got home something would be broken.

"I've got a bad feeling." Blossom said, softly. "And I've learned to trust my instincts as much as my intellect."

* * *

Master Chef Benjamin Marti stood and held out his hand at the appearance of his guests. They were running a little late, but their very appearance was an honor for his restaurant, and he smiled at their approach. The man took his hand and shook it firmly, obviously only using a fraction of his strength. An imposing figure slightly over six feet tall, black hair still held in a slightly longer dragon tail cut, and a short beard squaring his jaw, he looked like his reputation indicated.

"You must be the Master Chef." Butch spoke, looking down at the little man who only reached his shoulders. "You didn't need to meet us personally."

"It is my honor sir, madam," He could see the woman in the small group looking back and forth, obviously hoping no reporters or the like were lurking in the shadows. A green dress in a sort of dragon motif made her look quite dazzling. Marti motioned for them to follow. "Please. This way."

He led them to their table. Behind their mother, two children looked around, taking in the décor and surroundings of the restaurant. At their prep-prepared table, Benjamin pulled out the chair for the woman, and when they were comfortable and looking at their menus, allowed himself to relax. Butch and Buttercup Utonium! In his restaurant! Surely this was a blessing from Providence - he'd take a picture of them later, when their permission of course, and frame it for a place of honor, where regular customers could see the patronage he'd enjoyed.

"When you are ready to order..." He began.

"I think we all know what we're getting." Buttercup looked to Butch, who nodded. She smiled prettily. "I'll have the filet mignon. With salad. Medium well done."

Butch put down his menu. "Twenty four ounce T-Bone. All the sides. Medium rare."

"Eight ounce strip. Medium rare." The little boy said, without missing a beat. "With fries. Lots of fries."

"Same, but well done." The little girl said.

Benjamin nervously smiled. 'What an odd family.' "Would sir like to see the wine list?"

Butch raised an eyebrow, as if to ask: 'me? You're kidding, right?' Buttercup quickly took it and looked down the list. "The Cabernet Sauvignon, 2009."

"Excellent choice, madam." Mr. Marti hastily headed off.

"Maybe we should order something different next time?" Buttercup suggested, after the Master Chef was gone. "Certainly the children shouldn't be having steak every time we go out."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about it. I'll make sure they burn it off in training." Butch waved his hand, as if the topic of changing their diets was totally asinine, a feat of virtual impossibility. They'd been eating steak whenever they went out for dinner practically since they moved to New Brasilia, the Provincial Capital of South America. It was the largest city on the continent, though only mid sized by North American standards. Cattle had become one of the region's major contributions to the reorganized global community.

"Oh great." Duncan rolled his eyes, and pulled at the collar of his shirt. Buttercup smiled at the sight, remembering how much trouble they'd had just combing his rich dark hair, with him squirming and fighting the whole time. Since he'd been born, Duncan had become Butch's pride and joy, and even his brothers seemed to consider him the next generation of Rowdyruff and spoiled him rotten... at least when Butch wasn't training the boy to 'carry on the Art' that he and Brick had developed over the years. Butch was a gentle father, but a hard sensei.

Despite being only six, Duncan had a lot to live up to. Buttercup and Butch tried not to put too much pressure on him, but with the pedigree he had it was pretty much impossible. He was born the nephew of two world leaders, part of a family that had saved the world innumerable times, resurrected mankind from barbarism, son of one of the world's greatest athletes and most successful businesswomen.

The circumstances of his birth were simply that neither Butch nor Buttercup were particularly sure how much time they had left in their lives. At the time, Buttercup's investments were only starting to turn a tiny profit, and the newly married couple had to rely on Butch's earnings playing various professional sports. Of course, had things run their course normally on earth, that alone would have made them rich, but in this new era, there wasn't enough prosperity to warrant exorbitant salaries, even for the most prized athletes. Still, it was enough to keep them afloat, and able to afford luxuries many others couldn't have.

Blossom may have become the most powerful woman in the world, but Buttercup was the richest. Plus, she actually HAD a family. At that thought, Buttercup silently reprimanded her selfishness. True, the competition between the two sisters never died, or even faded, but Buttercup didn't wish any ill on her sibling. With Boomer and Bubbles starting a family of their own, it was certain that Brick and Blossom would follow suit. Those two always seemed to drag their feet with these things. At least they didn't have to worry about dropping dead any time soon, thanks to Brick's cure.

"Mommy... Daddy and Duncan are fighting again!"

"Its ok, honey." Buttercup assured her youngest. She was a shy girl, almost like Bubbles at that age, and not particularly tomboyish at all. Unlike with Duncan, there had been no real push to have a second child, once Brick had developed his medicine to extend their lives. Still, they wanted a daughter, and with things going well and everyone in good health, tried again and were gifted with Andrea. A daddy's girl, at one time Buttercup feared that, as she really started to make money for the family, the exposure to having nearly anything you desired would breed another Princess Morebucks in her daughter. Luckily, though Butch was a real softie around Andrea, he did draw sharp moral lines, and one of them was overindulgence.

Buttercup tried to follow his lead, but truth be told, it was so damn hard! One of the reason's... hell, THE reason, she'd decided to become a businesswoman was to make as much as she could so she could have all the things she wanted, but didn't get, when she was younger. But despite marrying a material girl, Butch still brought her the same wildflowers he always did, even though he could afford to get her diamonds for every day of the week. It just didn't seem in his nature to 'waste' money on anything you couldn't make practical use of. It was endearing most of the time, but infuriating every now and then. That, among a few other quirks.

"You're too slow, boy!"

"Darn it, old man! That's... my... bread..."

"If it's your bread, why isn't it in your mouth?"

"My bread! You ate my bread!"

The two boys, one adult, one not, glared at each other, and for a second, it looked like Duncan was going to cry. Then he narrowed his eyes, and looked to the side, away from the table, with an exaggerated gasp. In the split second it took for Butch to notice this, and look in that direction himself, Duncan had already seized a bread roll from the table, and hastily stuffed it in his mouth. He laughed as he chewed, and pointed at his father.

"I can't believe you fell for such an obvious diversion, old man!" Duncan chuckled villainously, bits of crumbs filling the air.

Butch chuckled right back, in another sad parody of evil laughter. "We'll see how you do when your main course gets here, boy!"

Buttercup sighed.

"Daddy and Duncan are crazy, aren't they?" Andrea asked, softly.

The brunette one-time powerpuff nodded, and took a sip of water. "Only a little, honey."

At least life was still interesting.

* * *

As Brick walked, he heard only the sounds of his own footsteps, in time with those of his faithful Dayna. He had no more time to waste on foolish notions of clinging to this mortality. He had spent his time well, in mental and physical preparation for what was to come. He had meditated on the mountains, and walked the streets. He walked amid those he sought to destroy and dominate, a wolf among the sheep, and it had hardened his resolve. He had isolated his spirit from those it yearned for, and it had strengthened his body.

As he walked, he felt the rush of power in muscle and sinew. It was slow at first, like an echo of the past vibrating along nerves long neglected. It was like electricity, then liquid fire, until he pulsed to the tune of his heart. He was of single purpose, but even now, even in this delicate moment, his mind strayed. And betrayed.

Hazy, he could see Blossom, holding their child, and he realized that the blur of the vision was due to the moistness in his eyes. He was still unfamiliar, and uncomfortable, with tears, so he blinked them away, and kept walking. Another mental exercise began, but this time it was focused on bringing out the energy in his body. A martial artist may have called it ki, or spirit. What it was... was Chemical X.

It was what Blossom, Bubbles, Butch, Boomer and Buttercup needed to survive. It was the legacy of their race, their doomed, damned race. The others had squandered it on saving humans, protecting humans... and in becoming humans. Or close to it. They would not stop. Their morality, their damned sense of responsibility, would not allow it. They thought he did what he did, and acted how he acted, because he hated humans, and wouldn't lift a literal finger, wouldn't 'use up' his time on the planet to help them.

They were half right.

As usual. He allowed them their half-truths, so long as the half they didn't know served his purposes. They, perhaps, thought him a coward. While it was true that he had no love for humans, even after all these years, that was not the reason for his behavior. The only remaining source for Chemical X was themselves, and if the others were to go off wasting their lives on humans, then it fell on his shoulders to support them. Not their activities, but them - his family. His brothers and sisters.

He sat down in the chair, deep in his Pharmacopoeia Lab and looked up at the sterile white ceiling. He had done this so many times before that he had long lost count. He had records, of course, but they would soon be destroyed. The Chemical X supplements came from him, came from his very blood and marrow. Every drop was literally time given to those he loved. Despite his achievements and innovations, his life was a waste, and at the core, a failure. He could not save his people, and in time, even the peace he had engineered for the humans would not survive. But he did what he could, and what he had to.

"Understanding is not required. Only obedience." He smiled at the words. It was true, and it was how he had always been. The others did not need to know where their C-X supplements came from, only that he had a ready supply, and only that it worked and was safe. They asked questions, but he had all the answers and proof they needed, and wanted, to hear. He was a genius, wasn't he? Surely, if anyone could solve the problem, it was Brick. And, indeed, he had found a solution. Above him, the white tile stared back, and Brick was reminded of an old saying.

"'He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.' ...Friedrich Nietzsche."

This would be the last thing he saw, this endless white ceramic sea. This time, he would die, and there would be no rebirth, no life after death. No death, even, perhaps. All that remained of him would be filtered, processed, and passed on. His body would be discarded, hidden, and burned beyond recognition. If all went according to plan, he would simply fade away and disappear into history, remembered as some reclusive inventor and legislator. The others would live on, live long lives, rich ones with happy families, and they would die, not old, but old enough, surrounded by grown up children starting families of their own.

Human families.

And maybe they would wonder: What happened to Brick, that old bastard? Where did he run off to? To horde his life away from the world he secretly hates? That did not bother him... if he was forgotten by the annals of time then it would be a great gift. If he was loathed, it would be justice. If he was reviled, it would be just what he deserved. No: what bothered him, even now, even after his resolve had been set in stone, was how Blossom would weep at his loss. Above all, he would not have her cry.

Except now.

Now, he would shoulder that, live with that, and die with that. She was pregnant with his child - a human child, who, in his heart of hearts, he did not believe he could love as a son. And, even if he could, who was he to play father? He had none. His role models were an insane simian bent on world domination and a man atoning for his sins, for whom love of his children did not exist until his only son had sacrificed himself in pursuit of it. Blossom would raise his child better on her own than if he was around. If his only act as a father was to ensure that his mother live as long as possible, then by all the hells, it would be so!

"Dayna!" He called to her, forcefully, afraid that weakness in his voice would lead to any misinterpretation.

"Yes, sir?" The synth asked, cheerfully. It guessed, correctly for once. "Would you like me to perform an operation?"

"Yes. Level Ten." He gritted his teeth. "Procedure Omega Four. When it is finished, and my body is disposed of, you will format your hard drive and reset."

Did he perceive a moment's hesitation?

"Yes, sir." She complied.

He winced, seconds later, at the injection. Not because it was painful, but because it was the last thing he would ever feel, and he wanted it to last. Then, steadily, the world dimmed and faded into oblivion.

Apparitions plagued him.

The floating, thin form of HIM danced in and out of his vision, smiling broadly. "I have you now, my little little boy..." He sing-songed in a feminine voice, and Brick felt a claw caress his cheek. "If only I'd lived long enough to see the world you'd created..."

He tried to raise his voice, but in this realm, he could not speak. Could not defend himself.

"My boy." The strict tone of Mojo assaulted him. "You lost control of the situation. You should never have betrayed me. I was your father. I was your creator..."

Brick tied to turn, tried to at least face his accuser, but there was nothing but darkness. Everywhere.

"They know what you did, Brick." That was the Professor, and Brick tried to close his eyes, to shut out the hell he'd been cast into. Not this! Not this! Don't!

"They know. Because you underestimated them, and overestimated yourself." The Professor's hand lay on his shoulder, and turned him around. To Brick's surprise, he saw the man, square jaw set, and pipe in place. His tone had been hard, parental, but not condemning. "You'd hold the world on your shoulders if you could... not realizing that you're too small. Not realizing that your legs would give out. Not realizing you need help."

Brick couldn't reply.

"They know about how you were making Chemical X. They know what you planned to do." The Professor paused. "And they're not going to take it anymore."

I've failed? Brick wanted to scream, wanted to curse: I've failed?! NO!! Not now, not when it matters!!

"You're a man, Brick, but you're acting like a child. You're not thinking about anyone but yourself."

Brick tried to shake off the Professor's hand. Tried to tell him to go back to the corner of hell where he belonged and leave Brick to his own piece of the pie. The Professor just shook his head.

"Stop running away. Just like before... you thought you were doing it for everyone, but you were doing it for yourself. You wanted to change the world, you wanted to give Them the world, but what you really wanted was for them to get it from you. What you wanted was their love and their dependence, because, in your thinking, you couldn't separate the two."

Shut up! Brick roared: Leave me!

"But they didn't want it. Now, you have given them the world... you've forced it on them, and it's eating you up inside. Now, you give them your life, for all the same reasons as before, and just like before, out of fear. Back then, you were afraid you'd lose control... you were afraid that you'd fail, and most of all, you were afraid of a situation you couldn't handle. Stop running away, Brick."

Professor Utonium stood up, standing tall over Brick like he was some sort of child. The older man looked down, his gaze merciless, and for the first time, Brick felt true fear.

"And stop causing my daughter grief, you got that, buster?"

"What?"

* * *

Brick blinked, and the scene was gone. He bolted upright, vision adjusting to the light, head pounding. He leaned forward, and ran his hand through his short hair. "Holy..."

He looked around, blinking to clear his eyes. It quickly became obvious where he was. "A hospital... I'm alive..."

"Damn straight, you're alive!" A loud female voice came from his left, and brought with it a playful, but rough, swat to the back of the head. He turned and saw Buttercup, hair still cut in the short pageboy style she'd adopted since her teen years. She glared at him with undisguised anger. "Idiot."

It was a harsh insult. Brick would've preferred a long string of explicatives. That one word cut deeply, and he looked away from her, unable to meet her eyes. He had been an idiot. Many things were true about him, and he deserved many terrible titles, but he'd never been called an idiot before. Never.

"I..." He didn't know what to say. Not to her. Not to anyone.

"You... idiot..." She said again, and then, suddenly, engulfed him in a body-crushing hug. "We... we were afraid..." She sniffled. "You already died on us once. Well... twice..."

He couldn't help but smirk at that, and Buttercup laughed a little, and sniffled again into his shirt. She gave him a sharp squeeze, and another bop on the head. "I'm just glad you're alive. I can't believe... well, old carrot-top's going to chew you out as it is. How could you think about doing that?"

"It... it made sense..." He answered, quietly. "From a point of view."

Buttercup didn't get a chance to reply before the doors to the room opened, and Butch and Blossom walked in. Butch put on a bold face, crossed his arms, and stepped to the side to let Blossom past. Brick couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Butch, his loyal lieutenant, even after the affair of the Long Dark, look at him like that: with disapproval. Mixed, thankfully, with relief. Butch had been happy these last few years - actually happy. For him to be like that now, Brick realized, drove home the magnitude of what he'd almost done. A moment passed between the brothers that words were unnecessary for.

"Brick..." Blossom lunged for him, and embraced him without hesitation. She knew. She knew everything now, and being her, she was the only one who truly understood it all. Truly understood his motivations and his reasoning, his faults and failures.

"I love you." She whispered in his ear, and she was in his arms before he willed it, leaning on each other, supporting each other. Somehow, sometime, Buttercup and Butch left, and the two were alone.

"I love you, too, Bloss." He meant it, with every fiber of his being. "But... what happened? What's going to happen... now?"

He had to know.

He HAD to.

"Butch and Buttercup." Blossom wiped away a crystal tear. "And Boomer. He was keeping an eye on you and brought the other two as backup. When he realized what was going on, he tried to stop it, but your synthetic guardian wouldn't have it, and Boomer hasn't fought in years. He was in trouble too, until Buttercup and Butch broke in."

"This wasn't Boomer's plan." Brick stated, not asked.

"I knew." She corrected herself. "I suspected. How could I have known...? Brick, all this time..."

"Don't cry." He reached up, cupping her cheek in his palm. "I had to do something. I... I had to, and this was all I could."

"You were afraid to lose us."

Brick gasped. He looked down, tried to find a reason she was wrong, but found nothing. She was right. He... he was afraid of losing them, afraid of them dying before he did. So he decided to run away.

"I was." He said, no longer interested in hiding it. "I was... Blossom... the Chemical X... what's going to become of it?"

She took his hand. "I don't know, Brick. What's done is done... but you won't be making any more. Will you?"

As if her tone brooked any argument. He half smiled. "No, dear."

"I want to grow old with you, Brick. Together." She stressed that word.

"I..." Brick mentally debated whether to tell her what he knew. "I don't know... there are some things I've never been, and don't know if I can be..." He looked into her eyes, and felt at home. "But I'll try. I'll try my best, and trust in you... to help me. To guide me."

"Always."

She held him, and he held her, their voices one. "Always."

* * *

In the end, things didn't turn out as they had been expected to. The world had not been saved, but it had survived. Mankind was not enlightened, nor was it brought into a new era of peace. But it survived. It survived the Gauntlet thrown down on it through the Long Dark, it survived the trials of rebirth and rebuilding. It even survived the passing of its heroes. If nothing else the people of earth, and the human race, learned self-sufficiency, and initiative. They built their own future.

The heirs to the Utonium name did not live to see their fortieth birthdays. Yet, in those years, they made an undeniable and indelible mark on history and the world, for better or for worse. Butch and Buttercup died fighting the last great space-borne incursion of Earth in 2036 that had breached the Horizon Defense Net, saving millions of lives in the process. They were survived by their two children. Boomer and Bubbles died in 2038, two months apart, of natural causes related to Chemical X deficiency. They were survived by five children, the youngest of which became Wards of the State. In 2039, as Blossom approached the end of her own life, Brick took to the air. It was said that the latter refused to outlive the former. The two left their home in Geneva, under their own power, and were never seen again. They were survived by one child - Jacob Utonium - and the world was richer for it.

They were remembered fondly. They were mourned. They were loved. Because, in the end, the four witnesses to the truth behind the Long Dark kept the secret, and told no one of the terrible history that had occurred, forty years ago, when sugar, spice and everything nice... snips, snails and a puppy dog's tail... changed the world.


End file.
